Free All Wound Up by Stephanie Pearl–McPhee

coincidence that my whole life is knitting), so let’s say it’s four. Four is not good, since I only needed three in a year to qualify as substance dependent, which I had suspected but don’t really want to hear. I admit that I’m sort of dependent on knitting, but I do like to think that it’s the way that some people are dependent on reading, walking, taking long baths, playing hockey, or breeding small dogs. Everybody has a thing, and just because you would never want to stop doing that thing doesn’t mean that you couldn’t do without that thing. I can’t imagine a life without being a knitter, but if something happened and I wasn’t anymore, I’m sure I’d live. (I’m not sure what that existence would look like, but I guess I could try getting a small dog.) There’s a missing connection here. How is it that I can tick off all these boxes but remain completely unconvinced that it applies to me? Is it just denial? I know that a lot of my behavior spells addiction or dependence and that if these criteria are all there are to it, knitters, rather collectively, are sunk. Rather dejectedly, I scan the last item on the list.
    (7) The substance use is continued despite knowledge of having a persistent or recurrent physical or psychological problem that is likely to have been caused or exacerbated by the substance (e.g. current cocaine use despite recognition of cocaine-induced depression or continued drinking despite recognition that an ulcer was made worse by alcohol consumption).
    I stare. I reread that one. I stare again, and realize that this is the one. This is the missing piece of the puzzle—how it is that I and every other knitter I know can meet most of these criteria and still insist that it’s not a problem in the slightest. I admit that the human ability for denial is pretty remarkable, and that we’re all loathe to admit we have a problem, but most of us are pretty quick to identify problems in others, and I can honestly say that I don’t feel like my friends and co-knitters (all of whom would have to tick off as many boxes, if not more) have any sort of a problem at all, despite being the poster kids for addictive behavior as it’s defined by this collection of doctors and smart people. The whole way down this list of criteria I’ve been trying to make it fit, trying to accept that you can be addicted to almost anything, and that maybe this really is the same as being addicted to gambling, heroin, liquor, or sex. Maybe (like all addicts) we just don’t want to hear about our problems. Now, though, this last item explains everything and takes the heat off entirely.
    For something to be a true addiction, for it to be a problem in your life—it has to actually be harming you in some way. It’s okay for you (and me) to be filled with glee at the thought of a yarn sale. It’s awesome, actually, provided that you aren’t knocking over a convenience store for the cash on your way there. A big stash can really just be a supremely good collection of something you’re interested in, provided you haven’t told the children they have to sleep in a tent in the backyard so Mama has more yarn room. You can be as interested in this as you want, and it’s not an addiction until you’re trying to score clean needles and some acrylic in an alley, just so you can do a few lines, or are shakily crawling through the broken window at your local yarn shop, because you really, really can’t wait until morning. Unless that’s you, we’re fine.
    * American Psychiatric Association,
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
, 4th ed. (Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association, 2000) 197-198.

THINGS TO LEARN
    1. Buying yarn to lift my mood will only make me feel better for a little while. Then I will have less money and less space, which is actually less uplifting. This is actually true about almost all shopping.
    2. It saves time to take time to do things right. I resent the hell out of that